


PRINCESS

by 1_800_FRERARD



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Art School Dropout Gerard, Asshole Frank, Auxilary Petekey im so sorry, Coworkers AU, Ghosts, M/M, Mental Illness, Mental Institution, Mutual Pining, Parapsychology, Punk Frank, and enough angst to kill a man, come for the frerard but stay for the multidimensional parasitic ghost monsters, diner au, they have no mercy, they thirst for frank's blood, they travel through nightmares, this is going to get pretty dark but it has a guaranteed HAPPY ENDING, yeah i said it multidimensional parasitic ghost monsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5505554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1_800_FRERARD/pseuds/1_800_FRERARD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people have skeletons in their closets. Some people have multidimensional parasitic ghosts in their closets.<br/>The rumor mill has chewed Frank up and spat him back out, and even though Gerard's got some ideas, he's not going to ask about the bruises, or the bleeding, or the unidentifiable pills Frank is taking, or even the gun he sometimes keeps under his pillow. He'll wait for Frank to bring it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down

Dropping out of art school was maybe the worst idea Gerard had ever had.

 

The first feeling after he’d signed the release papers had been relief. He could leave the miserable, soul-sucking place and all it’s pretense and false hopes behind him.

But as Gerard walked back to the train, glancing around forlornly at the familiar parts of the city for what might be the last time, the relief wore off. And as soon as the relief wore off, there was nothing but uneasiness and uncertainty in it’s place.

True. Art school had been a laundry list of problems, but dropping out came with it’s own set of problems… If Gerard wasn’t going to school anymore, his parents had declared they weren’t going to continue covering his rent. His mother said she only wanted what was best for her first born son. His father said honest work would help him build character.

Naturally, this meant Gerard was going to have to find a job, if he wanted to keep the small, dumpy apartment he shared with his younger brother. It was almost like they didn’t know Gerard was the least employable individual in the entirety of Belleville. In the week or so that followed, Gerard wandered the streets in the daytime, dejectedly looking for help wanted signs, lighting another cigarette every couple of blocks when he didn’t find any.

Lack of jobs immediately available, aside, who on earth was foolish enough to employ a greasy art school drop out with no social skills and no work history? (And one hell of an attendance problem. Not to mention the drinking.)

Gerard was an artist; and artists weren’t supposed to be clean or on time or social. (Or sober.) The few places that had taken a copy of his resume (with a wary smile, of course) hadn’t called him back and as the days stretched on, it didn’t seem like they were ever going to. He’d searched the newspaper. Bulletin boards. Craigslist… The Belleville job market wasn’t in need of another dumpy, broken artist, it seemed. No surprises there. It didn’t serve to make the situation any less frustrating.

But just when Gerard was about to throw in the towel and face the reality of moving back into his parent’s house, Mikey swooped in and saved the day at the last minute, just like he always did:

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. It’s not much, but they really need someone like, _yesterday._ ” Mikey had said, sliding the torn piece of notebook paper with a name and a cellphone number into Gerard’s hand.

Gerard made a point to call the number before cracking a beer, and was immediately glad for it. The guy on the phone, Ray he’d said his name was, gave Gerard an address and asked him to come in as soon as he could, in a voice that was as whiny as it was ten times too cheerful.

 

Mikey gave Gerard a ride in his beat-up old white corolla. The car protested the entire way to the diner. Gerard hadn’t realized it was a diner, **_The Diner_** , until they pulled up outside.

“No.” was Gerard’s immediate reaction as he took in the familiar building, “No fucking way. Pete’s place?”

“They need a busboy.” Mikey sighed, “And you need a fucking job. So _go already_.”

“I can’t work with your fucking boyfriend.” Gerard groaned.

“ _Ex-boyfriend._ ” Mikey reminded fondly, “That’s ancient history. Please be cool for once in your life and don’t bring that up. Nobody remembers that that happened but you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Gerard mumbled, pushing open the passenger door and shouldering out of the car.

“Oh wait, Gerard!” Mikey called, right as Gerard was about to slam the door.

“What?” Gerard mumbled.

“Well, first, you forgot your resume,” Mikey singsonged, handing Gerard his folded, stained, 8-by-eleven mess of a bullshit resume, “And second, if Pete asks, I have a boyfriend.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Gerard sighed, shaking his head, folding the resume over again and shoving it in his back pocket.

Mikey was driving off before Gerard had even turned around to face the building again…

It was a cool place to work, if Gerard could go back to being seventeen again. High schoolers frequented the place because it was one of the only places in belleville open late that wasn’t a bar. He’d been one of those high schoolers back in the day.

While high school seemed aeons away, he’d only graduated a few years prior. Still, something about the finality of becoming a busboy at the old diner he’d loved in high school didn’t sit right with him. It was like the safety bar dropping into his lap when he didn’t even want to ride the fucking roller coaster in the first place. Like he’d chased an entire bottle of pain-killers with a fifth of vodka and realized too late that he wasn’t actually ready to die yet.

As he shouldered into the restaurant, he wondered if art school would take him back now. He’d been failing all his classes at the time he’d signed his future away, but maybe if he begged they’d let him back in. Surely surviving another year or so of that couldn’t be worse than whatever was waiting for him beyond the revolving door…

 

Either they were really as desperate as Mikey had suggested, or Ray liked Gerard. Gerard supposed it was the former, though, with Ray’s cheerful demeanor it could’ve been the latter. No one asked for Gerard’s resume. Ray gave him the once-over and said, “You’ll do.” and that was that.

Ray was showing him around the place after a brief conversation that could hardly call itself an interview. Gerard knew the dining area well. He still nodded along as Ray waved a hand in the direction of the booths, as if he’d never been there before, since it seemed like that was what he was supposed to do.

It felt almost wrong to step behind the counter and follow Ray into the kitchen. Right away there were things Gerard liked about the job. For one, there was clearly no uniform. And two, Ray made about five jokes about smoking weed in that first hour. And since Ray was technically Gerard’s boss, Gerard was grateful that he seemed to have at least some amount of chill.

Gerard went home and celebrated by polishing off a six-pack with Mikey. He’d wait until he was sure they wouldn’t turn him out the next day to call his mother and give her the good news, if getting a gig as a busboy at a shitty diner could even be considered _‘good news.’_

 

Gerard started work the following morning. He wasn’t resigned to being a busboy forever - Ray apparently had plans to train him on other things - but it turned out being a busboy wasn’t so bad. It was sort of nice, even. Gerard didn’t have to interact with customers at all. All he had to do was wait for them to leave and clear their tables. He didn’t have to be clean. It was expected that whatever he wore would end up covered in food. He _did_ have to show up on time, but with everything else off the table, Gerard could handle that.

It turned out it was pay day and so over the course of the morning, the diner’s staff trickled in to pick up their checks. Gerard stood behind Ray, pretending he was listening to Ray explain the intricacies of the cash register when Pete walked in. Pete regarded Gerard with the same old shit-eating grin Gerard loathed and patted him on the back. They said nothing to one another, though Ray was too busy explaining the credit card machine to notice.

 _Be cool for once in your life,_ Gerard remembered Mikey saying. If being cool was a test, Gerard felt as though he’d passed.

The next to come in was Bob, a burly dude with a beanie swallowing his swell of blonde hair and a neutral scowl spread plastered across his face.

“This is Bob.” Ray offered casually, “If you ever have any questions and I’m not around, ask him. He’s the least likely to give you any shit or you know, straight up _lie._ ” 

Bob shook Gerard’s hand firmly. And the grin on his face even looked genuine when he said, “ _Welcome to the shit show.”_

After Bob came a sleepy, grumpy-seeming dude named Brian. After Brian came an intimidatingly punkish girl named Alicia. And after Alicia, came a guy that somehow looked greasier than Gerard _felt_ by the name of Dewees.

Each one of them offered Gerard a welcoming grin and a few teasing comments, commiserating fondly over the hellhole where they all worked.

 

Each one, except for _Frank._ Gerard was scrolling through options on the POS system when someone bumped right into him.

“Outta the way motherfucker.” the blur of stained white-tee and tattoo ink grumbled, shoving Gerard aside. He punched a few buttons to clock in, a process Ray had explained, and Gerard had already dutifully forgotten about. Gerard just stood there, staring at the back of the guy’s head like a frightened deer who’d leapt in front of a car.

“Frank, don’t you want to say hello to the newest member of our team?” Ray offered warily from somewhere across the room.

It was then that the guy turned around and looked Gerard up and down.

“Huh.” was all he said before disappearing into the kitchen.

~

 

It wasn’t as though Gerard had to interact with Frank much. He only saw the guy when he was carrying stacks of dishes back into the kitchen, and even then, Frank refused to acknowledge him.

Maybe it was the sick curiosity that came along with being an artist, but something about Frank’s disinterest in Gerard left Gerard well, _interested_. He was curious about Frank in the same way people got curious when they drove past a car wreck. He knew he wouldn’t like whatever it was he ended up seeing, but that didn’t stop him from looking.

It only took a few days for Gerard to figure out that _everyone_ thought Frank was an asshole. Gerard was just glad to not be the first to admit it.

“Don’t take it personally. You _can’t_ take it personally.” Bob had said to Alicia, after she’d complained about Frank spilling beef stew all over her new combat boots for the third time in one shift, “He’s just an asshole. He can’t _help it._ ”

The three of them were behind the counter, staring out at the rainy Sunday afternoon. Gerard was the only one trying to look busy, meticulously folding silverware into cloth napkins. Aside from the sweet old couple in the corner, chipping away at their soup and salad combos spoonful by spoonful, the diner was totally empty. They’d had a little rush after church ended, but the good Christians were long gone.

“But he gets away with so much shit.” Alicia argued, sliding in next to Gerard to help him fold napkins, “It’s not fair.”

“Aw, cut him some slack.” Bob countered, grabbing one of the napkins and folding it into a sort-of-paper-airplane and attempting to send it through the air, “He’s been dealt a shitty hand of cards. Like, _really shitty_ … I’ve never met a dude with such bad luck before.”

“Talking about yourself again, _Bryar_?” Frank mumbled around a cigarette, shuffling past the three of them, making a point to step on Bob’s napkin airplane as he passed.

“Hey, fuck you, too.” Bob shot back fondly.

Frank took one look at the old couple in the corner and then back at Bob and shook his head, letting his eyes widen in mock disbelief.

“Don’t swear in front of the customers.” he scolded sarcastically.

“Like you care.” Bob argued.

Frank shrugged in defeat and shouldered out of the diner, crossing the street and sitting down at the bus stop on the other side before lighting up.

Gerard tuned out the sound of Bob and Alicia, as they continued their bickering over whether not it was fair that Frank got away with being an asshole. He tried to not think about how Frank’s first exhale of smoke was carried downwind, into the face of a tiny old lady sitting beside him. She looked cold and sad enough as it was. What kind of asshole smoked beside an old lady at a bus stop? What kind of asshole smoked at a bus stop, period? Gerard wasn’t the most curteous individual in the world, but he wasn’t _that rude._

A moment later the bus came, obscuring his view of Frank and the old lady. Gerard looked back down at the silverware he was organizing.

When he looked up again, Frank was trudging back towards the diner, cigarette still between his lips. The closer he got, Gerard realized he was soaked in muddy water, head-to-toe.

Before Gerard could even ask, Bob was laughing hysterically.

“Forgot about that puddle again, huh Iero?” Bob howled as soon as Frank was back inside.

“Shut the fuck up.” Frank muttered darkly, sloshing water onto the tiles as he shuffled behind the counter.

“Don’t swear in front of the customers.” Alicia reminded with a small smirk.

Gerard had never seen someone spit inside a restaurant. In fact, he’d always thought that was a thing that only happened in movies. Yet there Frank was, letting a wad of muddy spit fall onto the tiles at his feet.

“Get the mop.” Bob laughed.

“Call the health department.” Alicia chimed in.

“Oh, fuck you.” Frank grumbled, shouldering into the kitchen.

Bob and Alicia grinned at one other as they listened to Frank thrash pots and pans around. Gerard thought he might’ve even heard a glass break. Alicia bit her lip to hold back a laugh as Frank stormed out again a moment later with a bag slung over his shoulder and a hoodie tucked under one arm.

“I can’t work like this.” Frank said, “I’m going home.”

“You’re shift isn’t over for another two hours” Bob whined, “What are we supposed to tell Ray? We just… don’t have a cook this afternoon?”

“Tell him what happened. You saw it.” Frank said evenly, “And so did you. And _you._ ”

Gerard held his breath as Frank pointed at Alicia and then at him.

Without another word Frank was shouldering out the door again. Gerard tried his best to not stare after him.

 

Tried, and failed.

~

 

The tips sucked. The paychecks sucked. The food was alright.

The only silver lining was that Gerard liked his coworkers. It didn’t hurt that the place was rarely busy and that Gerard was allowed to drink as much of the diner’s coffee as he wanted. 

Bob and Alicia usually worked together. Gerard liked the shifts he had with them. He loved how jaded they were, always doing the bare minimum, mostly sitting around talking shit.

He liked the quiet, more-focused afternoons with Ray just as much. He liked the music that Brian always put on, though he wasn’t often much for conversation if it wasn’t about music. Even though he was part of the waitstaff, Pete had a tendency to end up in the kitchen so he could bother Frank or Dewees - whichever was working that day.

Gerard felt like he’d connected with almost everyone on some level. Everyone but Frank, of course. He couldn’t explain why it bothered him so much. Just like he couldn’t explain why he felt this overwhelming need to prove to Frank that he was just as cool as everyone else who worked there - even if it wasn’t true in the slightest.

 

It was on a particularly slow afternoon that Gerard heard a pained wail from the kitchen. As Gerard realized that Frank was alone back there, he dropped the paper menu he had been folding and darted into the kitchen.

Ray had beat him back there, though. Frank was cursing and throwing ladles and rolling pins around, growling unintelligibly at Ray.

“I know you’re upset Frank, but there’s nothing we can do now.” Ray was saying, trying to console the greasy punk by placing a hand on his shoulder.

Frank took a deep breath and glanced over at Gerard with a cruel glare, eyes watering. Gerard immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have, and that was when he saw it. A small black rat was caught in a trap, folded in half unnaturally where the trap had snapped around it.

“It’s in a better place now?” Ray offered.

“Fuck this. This is bullshit.” Frank sighed unhappily, voice broken, pushing past Gerard and out of the kitchen.

Gerard stayed frozen in place, glancing in between the rat and Ray, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Fucking vegans…” Ray sighed, “Motherfucker loves animals more than himself. Health department says we have to use these traps and Frank hates it. There’s nothing I can do, though. My hands are completely tied here.”

Gerard shrugged helplessly, watching as Ray scooped the entire trap up in a dustpan and dumped it in the trash. If he’d been perplexed by Frank before, it paled in comparison to how perplexed he had become in that moment.

 

 

As the afternoon dragged on, Ray went out to run some errands. There diner was a litter busier than usual. Gerard still wasn’t waiting tables yet, but he was busy as ever, going around filling up coffee mugs and water glasses for customers, and clearing their tables when they left.

Just as Gerard was watching the last of the rush leave the diner, he heard the same, familiar, pained wail from the kitchen. He almost didn’t go back, but his feet kept him moving forward. Curiosity got the better of him.

“God dammit!” Frank moaned, crouched on the floor, “Stay still. I’m trying to help you! Motherfucker!”

Gerard couldn’t figure out who the fuck Frank was talking to. He inched closer, trying to crane his neck to assess how he could help the strange punk boy.

Pete shoved into the kitchen then, past Gerard, with Bob in tow.

“What’s going on, Frankie?” Pete singsonged.

“This rat is stuck in a glue trap. Help me get it off.” Frank said, glancing up at his audience.

“Oh, let it die!” Pete said.

“Don’t fucking say that.” Frank said, “Hand me that spatula.”

He beckoned towards a dirty spatula on the counter top.

“Ew, Frank, _No._ ” Pete groaned, “Put it in the trash.”

“How would you like to be glued to a piece of paper and thrown in the trash so you could starve to death?” Frank offered crossly, “It’s not right.”

“It’s a fucking rat, Frank.” Bob tried to reason.

“You guys are useless.” Frank complained, shaking his head. He stood up, with the piece of glue paper pinched between his fingers. The rat was flailing around on the paper. It made Gerard cringe. He clutched at his own hands protectively as he watched the thing almost bite Frank’s hand.

“Put that thing down, man.” Bob groaned, “If it bites you I’m not taking you to the fucking emergency room.”

“Again.” Pete added.

“You’re no help.” Frank sighed, shuffling across the kitchen with his arm outstretched. He grabbed a clean spatula off one of the counter tops before pushing his way out a door at the back of the kitchen.

The three of them followed after Frank as he made his way into the back alley. Gerard was glad he wasn’t the only one who was curious.

Frank gently dropped the still-squirming rat onto the pavement and began trying to pry it off of the glue with the spatula.

“Sorry buddy.” Frank mumbled helplessly to himself. Pete was stepping forward slowly, obviously gaining interest in standing beside Frank in his ridiculous save-the-rats campaign. The jerk was probably only involving himself because he was bored.

“Jesus fucking christ.” Bob said under his breath, taking a step closer to Gerard as they watched from a distance, “I’ve never seen anyone lose their shit over a fucking rat like this before.

Gerard nodded silently in agreement. When he glanced over at Bob, he noticed that Bob seemed about as perplexed by the whole thing as Gerard was. Maybe everyone was perplexed by Frank. Maybe Frank just had that effect on people.

“He’s like a fucking disney princess.” Bob chuckled, “What’s that one that fucking loves animals?”

“Snow White?” Gerard guessed.

“Nah.” Bob said, “Well. Maybe, actually.”

“Sleeping beauty, maybe?” Gerard tried.

“Nah. I think it was Snow White.” Bob decided after a beat, “Doesn’t matter. He’s a fucking princess.”

 

Bob’s words stuck with Gerard, even after they both had remembered they all had jobs and ran back inside the diner to look busy before Ray got back. After some time Frank and Pete appeared out front of the diner. Frank was smoking a cigarette, yelling passionately with tears streaming down his face. Gerard couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He knew Frank was still upset about the rat. They were outside forever. Pete took advantage of how upset Frank was to bum cigarettes off him for at least an hour. Gerard tried to read Frank’s lips the few times he looked up from his work, but he had to look away again. If he was ever going to shake his hopeless curiosity, the last thing he needed to do was to stare at Frank’s mouth.

~

 

“Thanks, Princess.”

“Hey, Princess! Where’s the order for table 9?”

“Princess, you got a light?”

The nickname had stuck with Frank. Bob told Alicia, who loved it so much she texted everyone else who worked at the diner. It caught on so quick, even Ray was using it by the end of the week. (Though, being Ray, always apologized to Frank immediately afterwards.)

Frank, of course, hated every minute of it. He stayed in the kitchen, slipping out the back to take his smoke breaks in the alley instead of at the bus stop. He slid the orders onto the counter in silent hatred, glaring at whoever dared make eye contact with him. It was hard to believe someone so pretty could look so mean. Gerard could admit Frank was pretty. There was no way he was the only one who thought so.

Gerard almost wished there was something he could do for Frank. He wasn’t using the nickname, but that was only because he usually had no reason to speak to Frank in the first place.

But Ray had to go and fuck that up, too. 

“Gerard, since Frank is in an especially um… _anarcho_ mood today, would you mind going back there and helping him with the dishes while it’s slow. Someone’s gotta do them. I don’t care who.” Ray said warily.

“Sure.” Gerard nodded. He was still new enough to the job that he felt obligated to agree to anything Ray asked without giving the guy any lip.

He took a step towards the kitchen.

“How are you feeling today, Princess?” Bob called over Gerard’s head.

“I have a knife in my backpack, Bob! Wanna come find out how sharp it is?” Frank called, glaring in Bob’s direction, which also happened to be Gerard’s direction. Gerard took a step to the side, out of Frank’s line of death glare, just to remind himself that it wasn’t _him_ Frank was mad at. Or maybe Frank was mad at him by association anyways.

"Knife in his backpack?" Bob mumbled, "What about he kitchen knives? What?" 

Gerard edged his way into the kitchen in silence, watching Frank continue to glare through the order window. 

“What do you want?” Frank asked, suspicion all over his face as he eyed Gerard up and down.

“They sent me back here to help you with the dishes.” Gerard offered awkwardly.

“Oh.” Frank said, staring Gerard down for another moment before turning back towards the grill and picking up his spatula.

Gerard eyed Frank’s ensemble for a moment before heading towards the sink. His stained white t-shirt was half-covered by a white apron with even worse white stains. Gerard thought it was strange that Frank always wore plain _white_ t-shirts to work. He supposed that maybe it was a punk thing he didn’t understand.

Gerard busied himself with the dishes, trying to ignore the silence between the two of them. It felt like he’d been forced into Frank’s space and wasn’t wanted there. Frank was obviously pissed off.

 

“I don’t have to put up with this homophobic bullshit, right?” Frank asked from somewhere beside Gerard when he was halfway through scrubbing the giant pan that had been used to fry the morning’s last batch of scrambled eggs.

Gerard paused and glanced over at Frank. He was leaning against the sink next to Gerard, arms folded tightly, lips curled into an unhappy frown.

“Homophobic?” Gerard repeated slowly, setting down the sponge, “Oh! I think you got the joke wrong.”

Frank quirked an angry, curious eyebrow.

“I mean… Bob was only calling you ‘princess’ because of the rat. I mean, because Snow White loves animals… And you, um.” Gerard was tripping over his words as he rushed to explain himself, “He meant you’re like a _Disney princess_ because you wanted to save the rats. He didn’t mean um, anything else by it.”

“Why are you defending him?” Frank asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not defending him.” Gerard offered, “I think you have every right to be mad either way.”

“…Yeah?” Frank asked slowly.

“Yeah.” Gerard assured, with a small, firm nod.

“Snow White, huh?” Frank asked, biting his lip as he mulled over the new information, “I guess I just thought they were… cause I’m, _you know…_ ”

Gerard didn’t know, but he suddenly wanted to know. _A lot._ He resumed his scrubbing. The soap had had time to soak in since they’d started talking and the worst of the scorched-on food bits were starting to come off.

“You look more like Snow White than I do, anyways.” Frank said eventually, “You’ve got the long black hair. And you’re so fuckin’ _pale._ ”

And with that, he sauntered back over to his side of the kitchen to flip the burgers over.

Gerard pretended to become very entranced by the dishes. He was too freaked out by the idea that Frank had looked at him enough to compare him to a Disney princess.

~

 

Ray was drumming his fingers on the cash register. Frank and Gerard leaned against the counter behind him, drinking sodas. No one had ordered anything other than coffee or slices of pie in over an hour. Business was so slow that Ray didn’t even seem bothered that Frank and Gerard weren’t even trying to look busy.

Frank had come out to the front when Ray had gone into the kitchen to lay out more glue traps for the rats. But then he’d stayed, even after Ray was done. It was just the three of them working, and it was sort of nice to be around Frank without someone attacking him with his hated nickname. He was calm instead of murderous as he stood beside Gerard, silently sipping on a can of coke. Gerard liked that Frank didn’t feel the need to fill the silences with words like Pete or Bob did. He seemed just as content with the quiet as Gerard was.

“So I’ve been talking to this girl I know…” Ray sighed, running a hand through his massive curly hair.

“And?” Gerard prompted when Ray didn’t go on.

Frank let out a breath of a subtle laugh as he inspected the fingernails on his free hand. After a moment he set his soda down and sauntered off to one of the tables to clear a departing customer’s finished mug of coffee.

“And well, like,” Ray continued hesitantly, “I don’t know… We’ve always been friends but I’ve never thought of her _like that,_ you know? And last night when we were on the phone I just wondered like, if she’d ever thought about me, um, well, _you know,_ like _that?”_

Frank slid the coffee mug onto the counter instead of taking it back into the kitchen with the rest of the dirty dishes piled in the sink and leaned against the register, next to Ray.

“Gross. Where are you going with this?” Frank asked.

“Well like, think about it. There are probably so many people you know that like, you don’t necessarily like, who don’t necessarily like you either… but who would totally be down if you asked. You know what I mean? But, I’m talking about the bigger picture here. Not about my friend.” Ray explained, talking excitedly with his hands, “Like think about it. Which of your friends would be down if you asked?”

Gerard found himself looking up at Frank, just out of curiosity, really. If Frank didn’t answer, Gerard wouldn’t feel like he’d have to answer either.What he found though was that Frank was staring back at him, with the same unguarded curiousity.

“Um…” Gerard offered with a noncommittal shrug, tearing his eyes away from Frank, “Probably none.”

“See, that’s what I thought at first.” Ray said, “But think about it. It’s weird, but _think of the possibilities._ Like there’s people who you know would fuck you in a second, but then like, what about the rest of the people you know? Have you ever thought about someone like that, just for a second, and then caught yourself doing it? It’s happened to me, so it probably happens to other people, right?”

“I guess.” Gerard said softly.

“Fucking nympho.” Frank said, speaking over Gerard, smirking deviously at Ray.

“Only chicks can be nymphos.” Gerard corrected gingerly, gazing between Frank and Ray, “The dude version is um-“

“Sex fiend. Pervert. Whatever. I’d rather hang out with the dead rats, thanks.” Frank interrupted, disappearing into the kitchen again, forgetting the mug on the counter. Gerard was about to consider taking it back to drop it in the sink when Frank came out again, hoodie on, cigarette dangling from his lips. 

Ray seemed completely unfazed by Frank’s accusation. He look just as bored and relaxed as ever as he watched Frank cross the street and light up at the bus stop through the dirty windows of the diner.

“I don’t know. Sometimes you just find someone attractive in a passive sort of way?” Ray went on, “It’s not really enough for you to ever do anything about it but it’s still there. I guess she just made me realize…”

~

 

Bob had maybe taken things a little too far with the whole ‘Princess’ thing. It was one of those days where the name calling was too much for Frank. He appeared to be on strike, only half-cooking most of the orders. Customers were sending orders back to the kitchen left and right, much to the annoyance of the waitstaff. Gerard couldn’t blame him. The nickname clearly meant something different to Frank than it meant to everyone else.

Even so, there was something unnerving about the burning smell drifting out from the kitchen all morning. Gerard was starting to get where Alicia’s complaints were coming from. It was kind of a wonder that Frank could be such a terror and keep his job.

Breakfast bled into lunch. The place was almost deserted by noon, which was uncharacteristic for the weekend. As Bob and Alicia complained about the shit tips, Gerard realized he wasn’t worried about losing his job. Like, **_ever._** He’d have to _really try_ to fuck up more than Frank did. If they weren’t going to fire Frank for this, there was no way in hell they would ever fire Gerard for anything. Frank’s antics provided a certain job security for everyone else, even if it meant losing business.

 

“Help him.” Ray eventually said to Gerard, pointing a finger back towards the kitchen.

“Why me?” Gerard asked as he heard a plate shatter against the wall, followed by Frank cursing loudly, “Can’t you just call Dewees in?”

“I’m calling him. Just… _help me._ ” Ray begged, “Please. Just for a little while.”

“Why me?” Gerard asked again, “What about _them?_ ” He nodded his head in Bob and Alicia’s direction.

“You’re the only one I trust him to not _hurt._ ” Ray offered, “ _I think.”_

“That’s reassuring.” Gerard offered sarcastically.

“Gerard, _please._ ” Ray pleaded. He looked so desperate, so _tired_.

“Alright I’m going. I’m _going._ ” Gerard sighed, narrowing his eyes at Bob, “But I’m doing this for you, not for them.”

Bob and Alicia both smirked at Gerard as he hung his head and slowly shuffled into the kitchen.

 

Frank glared at Gerard the second he passed through the doors, but he turned around and went back to cooking almost immediately. It was the closest thing to an indication Frank would give that it was okay for Gerard to stay and help.

Gerard immediately went for the enormous pile of dishes, since it was the only thing he knew how to do without asking Frank any questions. He put on an apron of questionable cleanliness to keep the warm soapy water from soaking into his clothes. They worked together in silence. Well, some semblance of silence. Frank had put on some awful thrashy excuse for punk music and it was bleeding out of the speakers of a tiny, old boombox in the corner.

When Gerard’s hands were starting to prune he moved onto the broken glass littering the floor. He worked around Frank, making a point to stay out of the angry punk’s way. There were shattered plates, shattered… bottles? The kitchen was a fucking shit show. When Gerard had gotten most of the glass up, he looked around for something else to help with. He stared at one of Frank’s tattooed hands, lazily flipping burgers.

“Wait… you’re upset about the rats but what about _those?_ ” Gerard asked before he could stop himself, eyeing the browning meat.

 _“Who_ ** _the fuck_** _put you up to asking about that?”_ Frank growled, pointing at Gerard with his greasy, scalding-hot spatula.

“No one…” Gerard said, taking a step back and holding up his hands in defense.

Frank continued to eye Gerard like he was up to something. The look in his eyes was pure murder. Ray had been wrong and Frank was probably going to kill Gerard - with a dirty spatula of all things.

“I just don’t understand how they’re different, I guess?” Gerard supplied nervously, “It was an honest question.”

It was like there had been a reset button on the back of Frank’s neck all along and Gerard had pressed it. It turned out Frank had a lot to say on the subject of rats and hamburgers. He even went over to the shitty boombox and turned down the stereo to talk about it. Flipping dead animals on the grill was what Frank had to do for money, and as corrupt as money was, Frank said he needed it to keep fighting the system. Rats, on the other hand, could be trapped and safely removed without anyone killing them. Gerard sort of saw where Frank was coming from, but mostly he was just in awe of how passionate Frank was about the whole situation. Gerard had never thought about working at a diner or killing rats from an ethical standpoint. It was just something he had to do to pay the bills. Frank, on the other hand, had apparently thought about it. _A lot._

Gerard didn’t mind the _Anarchy 101_ lesson Frank was laying down. It was more interesting than anything Bob or Alicia might’ve wanted to talk about. Ray had either forgotten about calling Dewees or Dewees had refused to come in, because no one came back into the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon to tell Frank to get the fuck out.

Helping Frank made the time go by so much quicker, Gerard hardly even noticed when his shift ended. He removed his apron and pulled out his phone to find a text from Mikey, begging Gerard to come along to some show. Mikey had even offered to pick him up from work. Ray handed Gerard his pitiful tips on his way out the door.

Gerard stood outside of the diner, counting his seven dollars twice. He had enough to cover the show’s entry fee, but that left him nothing for beer. He stared between the bus stop and the street. He could catch the bus home or wait outside for Mikey…

Frank shouldered out of the restaurant and lit a cigarette, wandering over to Gerard.

“You’re still here.” Frank commented.

“Yeah. I can’t decide if I wanna go home or if I wanna go to this show with my brother…” Gerard explained, “I have enough for the door, but that leaves no beer money.”

“You could always just steal beer?” Frank suggested, like that was something Gerard was inclined to do.

“The tips here are so awful.” Gerard said, ignoring the suggestion.

“They’re not _that bad._ ” Frank tutted, “Could be worse, anyways. Come on. That’s definitely enough for a six pack.”

With that, Frank was shoving Gerard in the direction of the nearest gas station.

~

 

Frank continued to follow Gerard after they had purchased their beer. Gerard didn’t know what to make of it so he headed in the direction of home. At least that way they could drink their cheap beer somewhere warm, without being bothered. Most of the walk was spent talking shit on their coworkers or complaining about the awful customers. Frank gloated endlessly about how he didn’t actually have to interact with any of them, since he was in the kitchen all day, and on top of that, it seemed like he genuinely hated Bob’s guts. From what Gerard could piece together, Bob, Ray, and Frank all knew each other from outside of work, though he couldn’t figure out exactly how.

Gerard worried about the state of his apartment for a moment as he was unlocking the front door, but he quickly realized that there was nothing he could do about it now, and that out of everyone who could’ve followed him home, Frank was probably the least likely to care.

“Do you have roommates?” Frank asked, following Gerard into the living room.

“My brother Mikey lives here, too, but he’s out at a show.” Gerard offered, watching as Frank set down his six-pack on the cluttered coffee table and wandered over to the stereo to browse through the CD collection.

“What show?” Frank asked, running one tattooed finger over a stack of CDs. Gerard couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Oh wait, never mind. I think I know which one.” Frank added, taking something out of it’s case and popping it into the stereo, “Alicia told me about it. Some punk thing, right?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Gerard offered, cracking a beer, “He said he could pick me up if I wanted to go.”

Gerard didn’t recognize the music that started playing. It must’ve been something of Mikey’s. It was hard and fast and grating on Gerard’s tired brain. If Frank liked it though, he wouldn’t say anything.

“I don’t wanna hang out with Alicia.” Frank scoffed, spinning around to fish one of his beers out of the black bag on the coffee table, “You can go to a show with our shitbag coworkers any night of the week. Tonight you’re drinking _with me._ ”

Without another word he dropped onto the couch and cracked a beer, throwing his head back to take a long slug of the cheap poison. Gerard sat beside him on the couch. They both stared up at the ceiling, hands wrapped around their cold beers.

“Nothing like a beer after a long, shitty day.” Frank sighed, bobbing his head along to the music. Gerard wasn’t entirely sure how he had even picked out a tempo through the noise.

“I’m sorry everyone’s so fucking mean to you.” Gerard commented.

“Shut up.” Frank laughed, reaching a hand over to blindly shove at Gerard. His hand slipped off Gerard’s arm and ran across Gerard’s chest. Gerard tried not to think about how _alone_ they were, not moving or breathing until Frank pulled his hand away again.

“I still haven’t figured out why you’re not just as mean?” Frank said, “I’m such an asshole sometimes. It’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t know how to be mean.” Gerard answered honestly, “I’m too busy hating myself to bother with hating other people. It’s always been that way…”

“Profound.” Frank offered sarcastically, taking another sip of his beer, “You got any good movies?”

 _Of course Gerard had good movies._ His movie collection was maybe one of the only things he took pride in. He had a lot of weird ones he’d learned about in art school. Sometimes he liked to relish in the pretense of showing another person something weird and scary they’d probably never seen before. He definitely relished in the idea of being able to do that for Frank.

They worked together. Frank got up to turn the music down as Gerard crawled over the TV to slide a DVD in. Gerard found it weird that Frank was so chill and easy to get along with. Everyone at work had made him out to be this monster he wasn’t. Frank hadn’t made any threats, or insults, or pointed anything sharp or alarmingly hot in Gerard’s direction since they’d gotten off of work. Maybe he was like a wild animal, Gerard thought, like the rats he worked so hard to protect: only hostile and violent when trapped or caged. And work was definitely a cage.

~

 

“The blood looks so fake.” Frank snorted, when they were about 3 beers deep and 45 minutes into the movie. Frank was drinking much faster than Gerard. Gerard could barely keep up.

Frank kept talking like he wasn’t interested in the movie, but every time Gerard looked over, he looked completely entranced. He made a point to never stare for too long. God forbid the punk caught him looking.

“It’s really hard to get the flow just right.” Gerard agreed, “Most fake blood runs too quickly. Blood is way thicker than you’d think it is.”

“Why do you even know that?” Frank asked.

“I watched a lot of surgery tapes and car accident footage and stuff when I was still in art school…” Gerard explained, “I was drawing a lot of gore at the time and I wanted it to be realistic.”

“Art school? That explains why you work at the fucking diner.” Frank laughed.

“I, um, dropped out, actually…” Gerard said, feeling the same pang of regret he always felt whenever someone brought it up. 

“Oh…” Frank said, looking over at Gerard sympathetically. Their eyes locked, “Shit. Uh, sorry dude.”

“It’s okay. I’m the dumbass that dropped out.” Gerard shrugged, crushing his empty can and dropping it onto the floor. He reached for another beer and cracked it open, taking a long swig.

“You could probably find a better job if you wanted to.” Frank offered, “You really don’t belong at a place like that.”

“What do you mean I don’t _belong_ there?” Gerard asked, trying to not come across as offended, even though he totally was.

“No. Hey! That’s not what I meant. It’s like…” Frank mused, pausing to take another swig of beer, “I literally can’t work anywhere else. Between my temper and my _fucking stupid_ tattoos… nowhere would take me.” 

Frank held up his hand and flailed his fingers to add meaning to his statement. He stared down at the ink on his own skin as he spoke.

“But _you,_ ” Frank continued, “You’re normal. You don’t have any stupid tattoos, that I can _see_ anyways. And you’re not mean, or weird, or obviously on drugs. You’re like, _totally normal._  Food service is for fuck-ups and you’re not a fuck-up.”

Gerard was almost offended that Frank had managed to insinuate that Gerard didn’t belong and was normal in the same two minutes. 

Frank had also said Gerard wasn’t a fuck-up, though, and Gerard quickly realized that Frank was the first person to try and convince him of this since he’d decided he was dropping out. And with that realization, Gerard felt at peace with his decision for the first time since he’d made it. Maybe dropping out hadn’t been the worst idea ever. 

“Thank you…” Gerard said eventually, pulling out of his wondering.

“Shut up.” Frank said, “I’m just telling you what’s real… Oh come on! She would’ve passed out by now. No one has that much blood in their body.”

And just like that, they were back to analyzing the medical credibility of the character deaths unfolding on the TV screen across the small, dirty room.

 

When the first movie ended, Gerard got up to put on another one. He stumbled over to the wall to kill the lights before returning to Frank’s side on the couch. If Frank had any problems with it, he didn’t say so.

Gerard felt numb and light as he picked up his beer again. If he wasn’t already buzzed he might’ve been freaking out about the distance between them, or the lack of it, for that matter. Time was starting to slide along in the unnatural way it always seemed to whenever Gerard drank - just a little too fast, with little details not quite making their way into Gerard’s short term memory bank.

Gerard watched the silhouette of Frank’s hand crushing an empty can. He dropped the empty onto the floor, just as Gerard had done, and Gerard couldn’t help but notice when he didn’t reach for another beer.

 

Gerard tried to keep his eyes on the screen, even as he felt Frank’s eyes on him. He held his breath as Frank reached up a hand to tilt Gerard’s face in his direction. Their eyes met. Gerard had never allowed himself to _look_ at Frank like this, and for very good reasons.

From a distance Frank was pretty, but up close he was _stunning._ Gerard had known for awhile, but knowing something was beautiful, and staring it in the eyes without reaching out and just fucking _touching it_ were too entirely different things. Gerard knew damn well he didn’t have that kind of willpower.

Frank’s features were illuminated by the dim blue glow coming from the TV screen on the other side of the coffee table. He looked nothing like the guy Gerard worked with. His face looked serious and intent, without the usual traces of murderous rage. He looked peaceful and well-adjusted. Sure of himself in all regards. Determined.

Gerard needed to say something that would end this. The tension was beyond stifling. It was _torture._

“What’re you-“ He started to say, but he was promptly interrupted by Frank’s lips, pressing sloppily against his.

Gerard hesitated for a moment before kissing back. It only took him half a second to decide that if he was going to do this, he’d do it like he fucking meant it.

He hadn’t planned on making out with the pretty, quasi-off-limits fry cook when he’d woken up that morning, but things had more or less stopped going as he planned altogether in every other aspect of his life lately, so why should romance be any different? Frank wasn’t exactly off limits, but making out with a coworker was a terrible idea on so many levels and Gerard knew it. Even so, stopping something when it was just starting to feel _so good_ was also more willpower than Gerard could muster. Gerard would quit his job in a heartbeat if it meant Frank would keep kissing him like this.

He hadn’t even realized he wanted Frank in his lap until Frank was fumbling his way into Gerard’s lap. Once he was there, Gerard wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist to keep him there. The wild animal inside of Frank hated it in some way. Frank bit at Gerard’s lower lip as if in some strange protest of being held still. Gerard needed no further invitation to slide his tongue into the punk’s mouth. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, with just the faintest notes of the regret Gerard wasn’t feeling yet.

Despite his rough edges, Frank’s lips were actually incredibly soft, as was his hair, his neck, the palms of his hands as they brushed along Gerard’s jaw.

It was strange to have Frank grinding on him with horror movie screams in the background. Strange, but not unpleasant. It fit the surreal vibes that had followed them all day.

Gerard had his hand in Frank’s pants and was jacking him off as expertly as he could before the opening credits were through. Frank’s jeans were too fucking tight and Gerard’s wrist totally wasn’t made to bend that way and on top of that Frank wouldn’t just fucking _hold still._

“Where’s your room?” Frank gritted out against Gerard’s lips.

“It’s um…” Gerard faltered.

“ _Show me._ ” Frank demanded, sliding off Gerard’s lap and regarding him with a dark, hungry look that Gerard could only half-see in the dim.

Gerard obeyed, pulling himself off the couch and beckoning for Frank to follow him. The rush of blood that flooded to his head had his vision swimming. While Gerard could probably navigate his apartment with his eyes closed, he hadn’t realized how sort-of drunk he was. He thought about mentioning this to Frank but decided against it when he felt the punk hot on his heels.

The screams from the TV in the living room continued as Gerard pushed the door to his room open and tried his bed to avoid tripping over anything on the floor as he led Frank to his bed. He left the lights off, figuring they wouldn’t need them. Though, he would’ve liked to continue to take in Frank’s beauty for the fleeting moments it was his to take.

They fumbled gracelessly onto the bed, kissing and tangling themselves in one another. Something about the sloppiness of the whole thing was hot, even if Frank fucking elbowed Gerard in the ribs in his attempts to straddle him. Frank laughed into Gerard’s mouth when Gerard let out desperate gasp. He might’ve been embarrassed if it hadbeen anyone else, but because it was Frank he shrugged it off.

Whatever the case, Frank stopped laughing when Gerard got a hand around his dick again. He must’ve slid the waist of his jeans down an inch or two at some point because it wasn’t nearly as tricky as it had been on the couch.

 _“Shit._ ” Frank breathed against Gerard’s lips, before preceding to trail kisses down to Gerard’s neck. He bit angry marks into Gerard’s skin to keep himself from moaning, which Gerard found monumentally _hot_. He was suddenly desperate to be touched, to come undone like Frank was coming undone, and somehow, it was like Frank could tell.

The punk maneuvered his way off of Gerard’s lap and started working on the button on his jeans, without having to tear his lips away from Gerard’s neck. Gerard had half a thought to call Frank ‘princess’ then. Not as an insult, but more as a term of endearment or something. He held his tongue, reasoning it would only lead to Frank strangling him instead of touching him. His tongue was soon busy anyways, sliding against Frank’s.

Gerard wasn’t above admitting how much he liked it. He moaned freely against Frank’s lips when it was starting to feel too fucking good.

It was over too soon. They were both coming way before Gerard was ready for it to be over. He chalked it up to the beer, the anticipation, the curiosity, Frank’s ridiculous, absurd, unfair beauty. He pulled off his t-shirt and used it to clean up the worst of the mess. Frank grabbed it from him and used it to wipe himself off.

They lay there, panting and sweaty, trying to look at one another in the dark. The orange glow of the street lamps outside Gerard’s window gave them a little to work with.

The strange thing, Gerard thought, was that Frank leaned over and continued to kiss him, long after they were done. It didn’t feel like hooking up normally felt. There was something gentle and sweet about the way Frank’s lips moved against his. Maybe Gerard was just offset by the idea that Frank knew how to do anything gently or sweetly. Then again, maybe he was just drunk.

Eventually they stopped kissing. Frank slung an arm around Gerard’s middle and nuzzled against his shoulder.

Gerard’s last thought before drifting off was that he still hadn’t told his mom he’d found a job. He’d wanted to make sure he had good news before he called. Getting a gig at the diner wasn’t exactly good news to begin with, but the fact that he was now apparently banging the fry cook? _Definitely not good news._

But it wasn’t like boys like Frank were the kind you told your mom about anyways…


	2. Hungover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i regret nothing

Gerard woke with a start. He hadn’t meant to pass out, he’d just been _so drunk_ , and so comfortable and warm with Frank against his side and he’d closed his eyes for _just a second_ …. And when he’d opened them again, sunlight was streaming in through his bedroom windows. He sat up and took in the room around him. He was greeted with the same nightmarish mess of dirty clothes and art supplies that greeted him every morning.

And he was alone. Frank was gone.

Or, at least, not in the bed beside him anymore. His heart skipped a beat for a torturous moment as he heard the sound of movement in the kitchen. A cabinet closing, the refrigerator opening. The hope dissipated as Gerard heard the familiar, whistled melody of ‘The Boy With The Thorn In His Side.’

Fuck. It was just Mikey.

Gerard’s skin was clammy from sleeping on top of the blankets. He eased himself out of bed, trying to ignore the way the world was spinning, and pulled on a cleanish shirt, followed by a questionable sweatshirt. He stumbled out of his room, practically hissing at the light pouring in through the living room windows like a fucking vampire. The throbbing headache, like searing daggers shoved into his eye sockets, had him scanning the room for a pair of sunglasses. Beer cans littered every available surface. Not just from the night before but the night before that and the night before that, too. Gerard swallowed hard, trying to ignore the smell of stale beer. Swallowing only made him nauseous, drawing extra attention to the stale, sick taste in the back of his throat.

He didn’t even want to know what his hair was doing, though it was pretty low on his list of priorities.

“Hey.” Mikey said, ducking his head out of the kitchen, “ _Whoa._ You look like shit.”

“Yeah. Um…” Gerard faltered, not really able to form words yet, “Kinda feel like shit.”

Mikey just smiled sympathetically.

“Shit… What time is it?” Gerard asked, feeling around in pockets for his cellphone. It wasn’t on him. He spun around, scanning the room again, and there it was, sitting on top of the TV, right where he’d left it the night before.

It was well into the afternoon, apparently, if the numbers on the screen were right. And unfortunately, there was no way they could be wrong. He had several missed calls, too. All from work. Fuck, _work._

“Fuck, can you give me a ride to work?” Gerard asked, running a hand through the greasy hair he wouldn’t have time to wash, “I’m _really late._ ”

“Thought so.” Mikey smirked.

“Why didn’t you wake me up then? Fuck. Was, um… Was anyone else here this morning? Did you notice?” Gerard asked, locating his worn leather boots and pulling them on.

“No… Should there have been?” Mikey asked, interest obviously piqued.

“I… I don’t know?” Gerard said, fumbling with the laces, “Maybe?”

“ _Maybe?_ ” Mikey repeated, “Who? 

“This guy Frank,” Gerard offered hesitantly, “From my work, he’s-“

“The fry cook? _Scary_ Frank? Gerard, you did _not_ hook up with scary Frank.” Mikey laughed.

“Oh come on, he’s not _that_ scary.” Gerard started to defend, “Look, I don’t have time for this, Mikey. I’m _late._ ”

Gerard pulled his leather jacket off the back of the couch and started patting his pockets down. Keys, check. Cigarettes, check.

“Fine.” Mikey sighed, reaching for his coat, “But if I’m giving you a ride, you have to tell me _everything_ … Well, not everything, _ew._ But- You know what I mean.”

Gerard just rolled his eyes and shoved Mikey out the door.

“I can’t believe this.” Mikey said, hurrying down the stairs after Gerard, “Scary Frank was at our apartment? And he didn’t _kill you._ ”

“Don’t call him that.” Gerard demanded, turning to glare at his brother, before shouldering out of the apartment building, “He’s not scary.”

“ _Gerard,_ I saw him break a guy’s nose last week for touching his guitar.” Mikey explained looking both ways before stepping out into the street, “He’s _scary._ ” 

“He plays guitar?” Gerard asked, spotting Mikey’s car halfway down the block and following after him.

“See, this is why I don’t believe you two hooked up.” Mikey scoffed.

“Believe what you want.” Gerard sighed. This seemed to quiet the younger Way, as they made their way to the car. He was used to Gerard arguing everything. Gerard liked to argue. _Everything._ His indifference stifled the younger Way..

Gerard took his younger brother’s brief moment of silent confusion to take status of himself. Now that he had left the apartment, he felt totally gross. The fresh air was helping with the stale taste in his mouth, though he should’ve maybe at least brushed his teeth or something.He’d totally puke if there was anything in his stomach to puke. Thankfully there wasn’t.

“Dude, _your neck._ ” Mikey said, eyes trained on Gerard’s collar.

“What’s wrong with my neck?” Gerard asked, hand flying up to cover his exposed skin.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with it.” Mikey said, shoving his keys in the driver’s side door to unlock the car, “But you definitely can’t go to work like that. I think I have a scarf somewhere. Hang on.”

Mikey circled the car and opened his trunk. Gerard bent down and tried to inspect his neck in the car’s side mirror, but he couldn’t see anything at that angle.

Mikey appeared at his side a second later, handing him a black bandana.

“What if someone thinks I’m in a gang?” Gerard asked, eyeing the cloth wearily.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mikey laughed, shoving the bandana in Gerard’s hands, “No one _on earth_ is stupid enough to think you’re in a gang, Gerard. Get in the car.”

Gerard obeyed, tying the black cloth around his neck as Mikey climbed in on the other side. He pulled the bandana down to inspect the bruises on his neck in the rear-view mirror.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s _gay._ ” Mikey mused.

As Gerard climbed into the passenger side, he opened his mouth to start explaining that sexuality wasn’t that simple. That Frank was only gay if Frank _said_ he was gay. The words were on the tip of his tongue. But then Mikey said the very phrase Gerard had been dreading:

 

“I have to tell _everyone._ ” Mikey stated, pulling out his sidekick.

 

“ _No._ ” Gerard said, grabbing Mikey’s phone, “ _You have to drive me to work._ ”

Mikey frowned but started the car, killing the radio as the car roared to life. In the brief moment of sound that filled the cabin, Gerard wanted to _die._

“Give me my phone back.” Mikey whined.

“What do you need it for?” Gerard asked, clutching the small device tightly - as far away from Mikey as possible, “You’re _driving._ ”

Mikey just rolled his eyes and put the car in reverse to back out of his parking spot.

“So how do you even know him?” Gerard asked once they were speeding down the street. He tried to focus on things that were far away to keep the nausea at bay. Ugly, abandoned warehouses, crumbling churches, crooked telephone poles. There wasn’t a speck of life in the dreary, industrial cityscape. This was why Gerard usually looked at the ground

“ _Everyone_ knows Frank.” Mikey scoffed, “His band _kills.”_

“Then why are you talking shit?” Gerard asked. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned Frank was in a band?

“Cause he’s psycho, Gee!” Mikey scoffed, “ _Totally. Psycho._ How many ways can I spell it out for you?” 

“He’s got a bit of a temper, sure.” Gerard admitted, “But that’s hardly enough to necessitate…”

Gerard dropped his sentence. The movement of the car was making him ever sicker.

“Are you gonna puke?” Mikey asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Gerard groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Talk about something else.”

“Frank’s rejected like, all of my female friends.” Mikey said, “This all makes _so much sense_ now.”

“Oh my God, _shut up._ ” Gerard moaned, closing his eyes in hopes it would stop the spinning, “I still don’t understand how you _know him._ ”

“Shows.” Mikey offered simply, smugly.

When Gerard opened his eyes again, the car was passing gas station he and Frank had gotten beer from the night before. He was almost at work.

“Speaking of shows. You should’ve gone to the show last night. It was fucking sick.” the younger Way added, slowing the car in front of the diner.

“Bye.” Gerard said, pushing the door open and nearly tripping on the curb in his scramble to get out and on sturdy ground. He was about to slam the door when he turned to smile at his brother.

“Thanks for driving me to work.” he said, “Love you.”

“Let me know if they fucking fire you cause if they do the beers are on me tonight” Mikey smirked.

“You know what? I take that back.” Gerard huffed, “I don’t fucking love you.”

He slammed the car door and flipped his brother off as he turned towards the diner.

 

Ray smiled as soon as he looked up and saw the frazzled state Gerard was in. 

“I’m _so fucking sorry._ ” Gerard said, speeding behind the counter and looking around for something to busy himself with. Anything that needed to be cleaned or straightened or taken care of. The diner was almost empty, which wasn’t giving him a lot to work with.

“Language.” Ray reminded lightly.

“Right. _Shit._ ” Gerard breathed, “I mean, _shoot_.”

“It’s okay, man.” Ray said, placing a hand on Gerard’s shoulder, “Just don’t make a habit of it. And _call_ next time.”

“Okay.” Gerard nodded, “I’m sorry. _Really_ , really sorry.

“Don’t sweat it.” Ray said, “Just make sure you clock in and um, we were weirdly busy earlier, so can you go see if Frank needs anything? Maybe just help him with dishes or something.”

Gerard couldn’t help but give Ray a startled, deer-in-the-headlights sort of look.

“Sure.” He said, recovering with a small forced smile.

As he turned towards the kitchen, running a hand through his hair, Gerard tried to think of something to say. Something that wouldn’t make everything _weird._

He still wasn’t sure what last night had meant, if anything at all. Frank had been gone when he’d woken up, but now he wasn’t sure if that was just because Frank could actually handle getting to work on time.

Gerard was okay with it not meaning anything. He _liked_ Frank. He’d do it again if he could. Do _Frank_ again, rather. But he’d take what he could get, no strings attached, if that was what it came down to.

“Oh, Gerard, wait.” Ray said.

Gerard spun around, just short of pushing through the kitchen’s swinging doors. As Ray looked at him, he swore Ray could see the emotions all over his face.

“Frank asked me to bring him a cup of coffee like, an hour ago and I totally forgot.” Ray explained, handing Gerard a plate with a mug of lukewarm coffee spilling over it’s the rim, “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Gerard said, eyeing his manager curiously.

Ray totally had to know what had happened. Maybe Frank had already told him? Gerard hadn’t known Frank was in a band. There were probably a lot of things Gerard didn’t know about Frank. For all Gerard knew, maybe Ray was Frank’s best friend.

Gerard gave up on trying to not spill any more of the coffee as he shouldered his way into the kitchen.

Frank had music on again, if the scratchy punk noise coming out of the stereo even counted as music.

Gerard froze as soon as he saw Frank. The punk was thinly slicing onions and throwing them into a big plastic bin. Tears were streaming down his face. He set down his knife and ripped off his gloves to rub at them. Gerard could see his lips moving, silently cursing. 

“Oh. _Hey._ ” Frank said, noticing Gerard as he blinked away the worst of the tears. He reached over to turn the volume down on the stereo.

“Um, Ray told me to bring you this.” Gerard mumbled, taking a few steps forward and setting the sloppy saucer on Frank’s work space.

“ _Fucker…_ ” Frank laughed. He pulled the mug towards him and spun around to pop it in the microwave.

“He knows the only thing I hate more than lukewarm coffee is reheated coffee.” Frank explained, “I don’t know what’s up with him this week? It’s like he’s out to get me, but only in really annoying, tiny ways…”

 _Pretend it never happened,_ Gerard thought _._ He could pretend it never happened. That was clearly what Frank was doing, after all.

“Do you need anything?” Gerard asked blankly.

“I could think of a lot of things I need right now. A cigarette. A _nap_.” Frank remarked, “What do you mean?”

“Ray said to ask if you needed any help back here.” Gerard reiterated, “I guess you guys were busy earlier?”

“Oh. Cool.” Frank grinned, “Well, um, what sounds less awful to you? Chopping 10 pounds of onions or doing _all_ of those dishes over there. One is guaranteed to make you cry, the other will… probably make you cry also? I kinda wanna cry right now, honestly.”

Gerard looked over at the sink. Soiled ceramic plates were piled high. There was some piece of weird kitchen equipment with a lot of blades that Gerard didn’t recognize. It was covered in a mysterious red, greasy-looking liquid. _Slippery and sharp._

Gerard wanted to cry too.

Chopping onions Gerard wasn’t so sure about. He’d have to look at what he was doing and not fucking cut himself and his head hurt too much for all that. _Dishes,_ on the other hand, Gerard could handle. He ghosted towards the sink to start on the dishes, wordlessly turning the hot water tap to fill the sink with warm water. He reached for the dish soap and upturned it, drizzling the liquid over the fearsome pile of ceramic and filth.

He jumped when he felt Frank’s hand on his arm. He turned, holding his breath when he realized Frank was right in his space, smiling softly.

Mikey was so full of shit. There was nothing scary about that pretty face _at all._

“Hey, lighten up.” Frank said softly, “That was a joke. You were supposed to _laugh._ It was funny cause onions make people cry- but see? If I have to explain the joke it’s not funny anymore…”

“Sorry. I’m just… hungover?” Gerard offered breathlessly. Frank was close enough that Gerard could see the way his eyelashes had clumped together from tearing up over the onions.

“You want something for it?” Frank asked.

“What do you got?” Gerard replied.

“Ibuprofen… and half a bottle of gatorade you can totally have the rest of.” Frank offered, “Cause I accidentally got one of those flavors that just tastes like watered down Kool-aid so I’m not gonna finish it.”

“Ibuprofen.” Gerard nodded, searching for something to be afraid of in Frank’s pretty brown eyes, _“Please.”_

“Sure.” Frank winked, floating off to pull an industrial bottle of pills from some cabinet. He turned the music back up as he passed the boom box and was mouthing along as he dropped 3 pills into the palm of Gerard’s slippery hand. Gerard shoved them into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

“Did _I_ do that?” Frank asked, eyeing Gerard’s neck.

“Um… Do what?” Gerard asked carefully, pretending he was oblivious to the marks peaking out from under the bandana.

Frank reached up a hand and gently ran the tip of his finger over one of the marks.

“Huh.” Frank breathed, “Sorry about that…”

Without another word he was wandering back over to his bag of onions, leaving Gerard at a loss for words.

 

_Never mind, Gerard thought. Not pretending it never happened._

~

 

The following day Gerard showed up for work 10 minutes early to make up for his misstep the day before. Alicia smirked at him from behind the counter as soon as she saw him. Gerard hesitated by the front door for a moment before continuing into the restaurant. Ray wasn’t there, he realized. And the place was always totally weird when Ray wasn’t there to keep everyone in line.

Gerard spotted Pete at the far end of the main dining area, chatting up a table of girls who may or may not have looked young enough to be skipping high school. _Pig._

Before he’d even taken his coat off, Gerard started on clearing a pile of dishes at an empty table. His heart sank as he glanced at the brown rings on the table from where the departed patrons had set their coffee mugs down over and over throughout their meal. This was to be his reality for the next _several hours._

He stacked the dishes into a neat pile, pouring the remainders of everyone’s coffee cups into one single cup. He wondered idly how much he would have to pay Pete to drink it. Not much, if he had to guess. Especially not after those girls left and Pete got bored.

“So Gerard…” Alicia said, appearing at Gerard’s side and running a bleach rag over the surface, blurring the brown rings, as well as Gerard’s wondering.

“Yeah?” Gerard answered, juggling the coffee mugs on top of a half-empty bowl of oatmeal and a barely-touched plate of soggy fries.

“Your brother’s name is Mikey, right?” She asked.

“Um, Yeah.” Gerard nodded, walking towards the kitchen to drop the dishes off, “Why?”

“I met him at a show the other night.” Alicia said, following after him.

“Cool. He said I should’ve gone. I guess I missed out.” Gerard mumbled.

Dewees was working the kitchen, not Frank, Gerard noticed as he pushed through the swinging doors. He dropped the dishes in the sink, feeling Alicia behind him like a shadow.

“Yeah. You _fucking_ missed out.” Alicia agreed, following Gerard as he wandered back out of the kitchen.

Gerard wanted to point out that he would happily trade a punk show for making out with Frank any fucking day of the week, but he held his tongue.

Pete had left the group of girls alone finally and was hanging around behind the front counter. He smirked at the both of them as they joined him. Gerard tugged self-consciously at the scarf around his neck. 

“Well, like, okay so, _anyways_ …” Alicia went on,“Is he seeing anyone?”

“Who?” Pete asked.

“Gerard’s brother.” Alicia replied, “Mikey.” 

“Seriously, Alicia?” Pete laughed, “Mikey?” 

“You’re one to talk.” Gerard mumbled.

“Mikey’s not into girls.” Pete said smugly, leaning back against the counter.

“That’s _not true_.” Gerard corrected, “He dates girls sometimes.”

“Since when?” Pete scoffed.

“Since always.” Gerard shrugged, “Actually though, he’s sort of got a boyfriend right now.”

“Bullshit!” Pete stated confidently, “ _Who?_ I haven’t seen him with anyone.”

“Why do _you_ wanna know so bad?” Gerard asked plainly.

The lie had come so easily and the look on Pete’s face was totally worth it. Mikey had been right all along.

 _“I don’t.”_ Pete huffed, wandering off to refill the coffee cups at table 5.

“So he’s um, off limits?” Alicia asked, quiet enough that Pete couldn’t overhear.

“Not off limits…” Gerard sighed, “Just… sort of… off the table right now.”

 

 

Gerard hadn’t really been drawing much since he’d started working at the diner. Well, since he’d dropped out of school, if he was totally honest. He was still trying to figure out where he fit as an artist, if not in art school. He wasn’t really sure what ‘being an artist’ even meant to him anymore. On top of the existential mess dropping out presented him with, he was still adjusting to being on his feet all day. Most days he came home from work and immediately laid down on the couch. He had no idea how his coworkers went out and did things after work. Even the idea of having to sit upright at a desk was too much for Gerard most days.

When Gerard went home from work that day, though, things went a little different than usual. Mikey had scored them painkillers. _Good ones,_ too. They’d hung out for awhile, watching Beavis and Butthead reruns as they waited for the pills to kick in. Eventually Mikey had fucked off to his room to listen to records. So Gerard, feeling heavy in a completely different way than he typically felt, seized the opportunity to spend some quality time with the blank pages in his sketchbook. He’d meant to tell Mikey that Alicia seemed into him, but as soon as Gerard remembered, he could hear The Cure blaring on the other side of Mikey’s closed door. That band was sacred to the younger Way. Gerard took it as a sign that Mikey wanted to be left alone and decided to save the topic for later.

Closing his own bedroom door and turning on his stereo, Gerard started off doing his usual creepy art shit… a black mass covered in mouths full of fangs, a ghostly boy sticking his hands through a wall, a cat in drag licking a bloody knife.

He found though, that he wasn’t fully in it. He kept looking up from his work. Maybe it was the pills? Maybe it was the fact that he was so out of practice? Maybe it was the way his mind kept sort of drifting off to his weird situation with Frank? Maybe it was all of those things put together.

Gerard didn’t give up so easily, though, not when it came to drawing. He tried switching the ink color he was using, making lines with blood red instead of black. When that didn’t help, he switched mediums and got out his paints.

Painting seemed to satisfy the itch. He didn’t usually make abstract art, but the brush strokes were just so satisfying. What started out as the closeup of a crow’s wing, turned into the slope of a cemetery at night. The individual feathers transformed into tombstones. He filled every inch of white with grey so dark, it was almost black. Except of course, for the glowing moon above the headstones and it’s exaggerated, deep blue moon shadow. He almost wished he could find the shimmer paint he knew he had lying around somewhere. The scene didn’t even really look like tombstones anymore. Just _black._

Gerard was pulled from his work by the sound of his neighbor’s intercom buzzing away.

The Way brothers lived next to a mean, old, married couple. They loved to file noise complaints with both the cops and the landlord, whether Gerard and Mikey were being loud or not. One time they’d e-mailed the landlord over screams in some horror movie they’d been watching. They were miserable people and Gerard knew he wasn’t the only one who thought so. No noise ever came from their apartment, aside from quiet talking. They never played music or watched TV. And they sure _as hell_ never got visitors, either.

Gerard’s curiousity was piqued when he heard their buzzer go off again a few moments later, followed the angry footsteps of his neighbor. Gerard held perfectly still, listening to their hushed curses. It was getting kind of late. They’d probably been asleep, or at least settled in. Gerard blinked, trying to make sense of the muffled voices through his bedroom wall.

Yelling from the street below startled him out of his eavesdropping. Gerard crept over towards his window, keeping low. Weeknight dramas like this were common on his street. Drunk people and punk kids looking for trouble were the usual suspects. He peered down at the sidewalk, one story below. He could hear someone still yelling but, he couldn’t tell what they were saying, so he lifted his window to get a clearer listen.

“Gerard!?” they yelled, “Are you up there?”

Gerard realized, to his horror, that the person below was ** _both_** a drunk person and a punk kid looking for trouble. _Frank_ stepped backwards into the glow of the streetlamps. When he spotted Gerard, he waved his arms, as if he didn’t already have Gerard’s complete and undivided attention. He probably had the entire _block’s_ complete and undivided attention. Fucking _asshole._

“Buzz me in!” Frank called up.

Gerard was already pulling on his coat. He pushed out of his room, feeling fuzzy all over as he crossed the apartment, tore the door open, and headed for the stairs down to the street. He wasn’t sure why he was in such a hurry. Half of him was excited to see Frank, the other half of him just needed Frank to stop yelling and bothering all his neighbors. Before someone _actually_ called the fucking cops.

Gerard pushed his way out the main doors. Frank was waiting for him on the sidewalk. Technically it was Frank anyways, though Gerard had to blink a few times to convince himself. The usual stained white tee was replaced with a black t-shirt with a cartoony, white band logo on it, partially obscured by a denim jacket, covered in patches. His hair was styled differently, all straightened and full of product. He might’ve even been wearing makeup, but it was hard to tell in the light.

Frank usually looked hot in this dirty punk-boy sort of way, but the guy standing before Gerard just looked, well, _hot._

“ _What the fuck are you doing here?_ ” Gerard asked, staring Frank up and down in disbelief.

 _Nice brain-to-mouth filter,_ Gerard thought. The question easily could’ve been interpreted as rude or standoffish, even though Gerard was nothing but excited, and well, mildly terrified, and also still pretty high.

“I walked here.” Frank shrugged, unfazed.

No, drunk. He was totally drunk.

“You… _Walked here?_ ” Gerard repeated with a small laugh, “From where?”

Gerard glanced up at the building to see if anyone was watching them. Now that Frank wasn’t yelling or buzzing other people’s apartments, he was less worried someone would call the cops or come down and beat the everliving shit out of Frank.

“Oh, I was just at a show.” Frank offered, kicking at a piece of broken glass on the pavement, “Was kinda close by. Thought I’d see… what you were up to? Guess I didn’t think about what I’d do if you weren’t around. Also I didn’t realize I don’t have your number until I got here.”

“How the fuck did you even remember where I live?” Gerard grinned.

“You know… I don’t know why everyone thinks I can’t remember things?” Frank slurred argumentitively “I can remember _lots of things._ Just ‘cause I smoke weed doesn’t mean I-“

Frank paused to close the distance between the two of them. Gerard nearly stumbled back as Frank leaned all of his weight against him.

“I remembered which building it was, just not which apartment number.” Frank explained, pecking Gerard on the lips.

“I could remember how you feel… How you sound _…”_ Frank continued, _“_ But not how you _taste._ ”

Frank’s lips felt _so good_ when he pressed them against Gerard’s again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Gerard was thinking there was some stuff he wanted, no, _needed,_ to say to Frank before this entire thing they had going devolved into meaningless drunken hookups.

Gerard wasn’t against meaningless drunken hookups, of course. There were just other variables involved here. They were coworkers. And Gerard needed to get to the bottom of Frank’s reputation for being _scary_. Not to mention that Gerard actually _liked_ Frank. Like-liked him, even.

“I think I might’ve accidentally, um-” Frank said, leaning back enough to smirk at Gerard, “I think I told your neighbor I wanted to sit on his _dick_.”

“My… _neighbor?_ ” Gerard asked curiously.

“Like, through the intercom I mean. Thought I was talking to you.” Frank explained, “Think I had the wrong apartment, though.”

“Oh.” Gerard breathed.

“But that was meant for you.” Frank clarified. 

And oh fuck, if Gerard could turn back time somehow and not be way too high for this, he might’ve been turned on. Really fucking turned on. The way Frank was fucking _looking_ at him.

“Let’s um… let’s get you inside.” Gerard said, glancing up at his building again to make sure his neighbors weren’t staring down at him. The last thing they needed was another reason to hate him.

Frank just hummed in agreement and let Gerard pull him inside.

It was sort of hard to get Frank up the stairs, though. He kept stopping to kiss Gerard. It was cute the first four times, and okay, the three more times after that. It wasn’t like Gerard minded. He’d probably do anything Frank asked him to, especially when he smelled so fucking good and tasted like beer and cigarettes and some underlying sweetness that Gerard couldn’t place. What was he wearing anyways? It had to be his styling gel because there was no way Frank was the type to wear cologne.

Gerard urged the sloshy punk along when Frank’s kissing started to get more heated. He preferred to make out in the comfort of his own apartment. Not in a stairwell, where he was at the mercy of his shitty neighbors.

Eventually they made it up to Gerard’s apartment in one piece. Frank tried the handle without even waiting for Gerard and pushed the door open. Gerard couldn’t decide if Frank was always so comfortable with himself or if he just got that way when he was boozey.

“Can I get you anything?” Gerard asked, shutting the door and locking it behind them, “Glass of water? Um?”

He felt fuzzy and light all over from the pills. He was trying to keep it together for Frank’s sake, even though Frank was totally too drunk to notice anyways.

“Beer?” Frank asked hopefully.

“Maybe.” Gerard said, “Not sure.”

Frank wandered after him into the small, cluttered kitchen. Gerard pulled open the fridge and inspected it’s contents warily. A few cans of beer lined one of the shelves in the door, thankfully. Gerard reached for a can and passed it to Frank.

“Actually…” Frank said, eyeing the can, “Maybe more beer isn’t such a good idea. I’m drunk enough…”

“Enough for what?” Gerard asked.

But Frank was back in Gerard’s space, kissing him slowly, intently, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s neck. The door to the fridge was still hanging open a little, and Gerard had to twist his arm weird to set the can of beer down on the countertop.

As Frank pressed him up against the kitchen counter, all Gerard could think was, “ _Why Me?”_

Frank had undoubtedly just come from a show, where at least a dozen other pretty, drunk people had been bouncing off of each other. Frank could’ve danced with someone there. He could’ve gone home with them, too. Gerard couldn’t fathom why Frank would choose to come all the way to Gerard’s apartment to make out _with Gerard_.

Gerard heard Mikey’s door open. A wall of _Disintegration_ came spilling out after him.

“Hey Gerard!” Mikey called from the living room, “Have you seen that little box I keep my picks in? You know the bigger ones that I use for my bass? It kinda looks like the box you keep your eye shadows in?”

“I didn’t know your brother was home.” Frank said, tearing his lips away, but still keeping himself wrapped around Gerard.

Mikey wandered into the kitchen, but froze as soon as he realized Gerard wasn’t alone.

“Hey.” the younger Way said cooly, blinking at Frank like he couldn’t believe it. It took all of Gerard’s willpower to not slip him a smirk of smug satisfaction. Gerard hadn’t been making it up. ‘ _Scary_ Frank’ **had** been at their apartment the other night.

“Frank, this is my brother, M-“

“Mikey.” Frank finished, loosening his hold on Gerard to reach out and fist bump the younger Way, “I know Mikey.”

“What’s up?” Mikey asked smoothly.

“Not much.” Frank slurred, “Just came from that show at that place Bob does sound for sometimes. Kinda thought you’d be there, honestly.”

“I thought about going but my bass was calling me.” Mikey shrugged.

“I know the feeling.” Frank commiserated, “You’re gonna be at that thing on Friday though?”

“Yeah.” Mikey nodded, “Definitely.”

“Cool.” Frank grinned.

Gerard wasn’t sure what the fuck was happening. Mikey didn’t just know Frank, he like, _knew Frank._ They ran in the same circles and shit. _Music circles._ The people Mikey knew, knew Frank also.

“Well, I’m gonna go look for my picks.” Mikey said, mock-saluting Frank and Gerard and ghosting back out of the small kitchen.

“So um, about that thing I said before…” Frank mumbled.

“What thing?” Gerard asked. He was tingling all over and he wasn’t sure if it was Frank or the pills but he was way too out of it for this to be happening right now.

Frank just shook his head and grabbed Gerard’s arm. He obediently followed Frank to his room. He didn’t really want Frank to see the ridiculous painting he’d been working on, but it was too late to deflect the wasted punk. Frank seemed to have other things on his agenda anyways. He pulled Gerard onto the bed, kissing him sloppily, ignoring the messy arrangement of the blankets.

Gerard could totally handle this. He was way too high to fuck, but he could probably handle a blow job. It wouldn’t have to be his best. Frank was way too drunk to care, anyways. Gerard was sure of that now.

But being so close felt so nice it made Gerard light-headed. Frank was so warm and soft. It took him a minute to realize that Frank’s kisses were slowing, growing less urgent by the second. He’d been so intent before. It was clear he was running out of steam. That was okay. That was great actually. Gerard could make a complete and total fool of himself some other night, when Frank was more aware of what the fuck was going on.

“Thought about you all day.” Frank mumbled as Gerard pressed slow kisses against his neck.

He lifted Frank’s t-shirt up a few inches so he could run his fingers over the warm, tattooed skin. Frank was so soft he couldn’t stop himself from bowing lower and pressing a few kisses over the punk’s hip bones. His skin felt softer against Gerard’s lips than it had felt against the tips of his fingers.

When Gerard glanced up at Frank’s face, his eyes were closed. A soft, drunken smile was plastered across his lips. He looked peaceful, relaxed. When he glanced back down at the strip of Frank’s exposed skin, though, curious to get a better look at the lines of ink peaking out from under his shirt, a wave of concern ate up all the tingly feelings.

Dark, angry bruises littered Frank’s skin. Gerard slid the punk’s shirt up a few more inches, trying to get a better look at what he hoped he was imagining.

They looked _painful_ , especially the long one that shot up towards Frank’s ribs. Some looked fresher than others. The expanses of pale flesh that weren’t filled up with ink looked like some kind of fucked up, nightmarish rainbow. Everything from brown, to green, to blue, to black.

It looked like someone already _had_ beat the everliving shit out of Frank. _Multiple times._

Gerard couldn’t help himself. He lifted his weight off of Frank as soon as this occurred to him.

“Frank?” he asked gently.

Frank hummed lazily, already halfway to drunken dreamland.

“ _Frank._ ” Gerard said again, a little more forcefully.

Frank was too out of it to respond. Gerard sighed and laid down beside him.

He was too high to sleep, though. Too _fucking freaked out_ to sleep. The idea that anyone could hurt Frank made Gerard restless. He hardly knew the guy. He knew Frank had a reputation as being scary. Maybe the person Frank had fought looked worse than Frank did.

Gerard tried to think of who could’ve done this. He still knew next to nothing about Frank. He could ask Mikey maybe… but Mikey would just tell everyone. Gerard would have to keep this to himself until he could talk to Frank about it, if Frank would even talk about it at all.

He got up slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping punk. Frank had passed out so quickly. It felt like he’d only been there for twenty minutes or so. Gerard hadn’t felt alone all night, but suddenly he felt incredibly alone. First, he put his paints away so they wouldn’t dry out. Then he carried the paint water to the kitchen sink. He’d spilled enough cups of the grey liquid on the carpet in his room. He knew better.

As he rinsed the paint out with a sponge and then filled the glass with fresh water, Gerard felt sick. He took a sip from the glass and felt his insides quiver. This was so fucked up. Maybe it was just the pills. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Frank would laugh about this when he asked in the morning. 

 

Gerard wandered back to his room and set the glass down on the crowded night stand, close to Frank. He lowered himself onto the bed, gently snaking a protective arm around Frank’s middle and holding him close as carefully as his clumsy limbs would allow him to. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before. They’d hooked up before, for fuck’s sake. Frank had left all of his clothes on, and now Gerard couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason for that.

He was totally allowed to be upset about this, he decided. Even if it wasn’t what it looked like and he was blowing everything way out of proportion.

As Frank’s friend, _(just his friend,_ Gerard reminded himself _),_ he’d be crazy to not be upset about this.

Something wasn’t right here. Something was, in fact, very, _very_ wrong here.

~

 

Dim grey filtered in through the windows, courtesy of the overcast skies blanketing Jersey.

Gerard was almost surprised by the messy mop of short black hair on the pillow next to him. Frank hadn’t bolted in the middle of the night like last time. He had his back to Gerard, and as absurd and paranoid as it may have felt, Gerard froze to listen for Frank’s breathing.

He was way too warm to be dead, though. Gerard still had an arm wrapped around him, and he couldn’t help but notice that Frank’s fingers were tangled in his. He begrudgingly slid his arm away as carefully as he could. Gerard wasn’t sure if it was punk to cuddle or not, but he wasn’t looking to figure it out the hard way. The movement seemed to make Frank stir, though. He groaned and turn to bury his face in the pillows. 

“Fuck, what time is it?” Frank mumbled. 

“Let me check.” Gerard croaked, feeling around for his phone. Wherever it was, it wasn’t in arm’s reach.

“Um, I have no idea.” Gerard offered weakly.

“Fuck.” Frank sighed, pulling his phone out and holding it up.

Still early, Gerard confirmed as he glanced at the screen. He couldn’t help but notice Frank had missed calls.

Gerard had about an hour before he had to leave for work, though. He averted his eyes from Frank’s phone screen and let out a deep yawn, stretching his aching limbs. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this relieved to be sober. Immediately his brain got to work, planning the best way to ask Frank about the bruises. He almost needed to double-check that they were actually there. He wanted, more than anything, for it all to have been some twisted nightmare.

“You working today?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. Gotta leave in an hour.” Gerard said.

“Me too.” Frank yawned. He rolled over to face Gerard. His eyes were bloodshot, framed by some seriously impressive dark circles. It was some crime against humanity that Frank was still so pretty when he was hungover like this.

“How did I even get here? Did you go to the show last night, too?” Frank asked.

“No, um, you said you walked here.” Gerard explained.

“I said that?” Frank grinned, “Well, um, thanks for letting me stay…”

“Any time.” Gerard blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Hope I wasn’t too much of a terror.” Frank said, rolling onto his back, “I can be kinda… I don’t know.”

“I think you might’ve pissed off my neighbors.” Gerard mused, “But that’s okay. Maybe last night will have been the last straw and they’ll fuckin’ move out instead of bitching about Mikey’s bass playing all the time.”

Frank let out a breath of a laugh.

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m so nauseous.” he warned.

“Sorry.” Gerard sighed.

“Don’t be.” Frank commanded.

Here Gerard was, just, not bringing up the bruises. The longer he went without mentioning it, the harder it would be to bring up later. He sat up in interest of making coffee for the both of them.

“Coffee?” Gerard asked.

“I’ll just drink some when I get to work.” Frank said.

Gerard couldn’t imagine leaving the house without caffeine. He stared at Frank in horrified disbelief for a moment.

“I’d just… lose it on the bus anyways.” Frank added.

It took Gerard a minute to get his meaning, but then it clicked. He’d felt the same way a few mornings ago when he’d woken up without Frank there. He’d barely survived the car-ride to work.

“Oh god, _work._ ” Frank groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically, “I don’t wanna get any stains on this shirt.”

“Wanna borrow one of mine?” Gerard asked, fighting the urge to ask what stains Frank could possibly be worried about when he was wearing a black t-shirt. Not to mention the stained white-tees he typically wore.

“But then I’d have to _carry_ the one I’m wearing.” Frank pointed out.

“You could just leave it here?” Gerard suggested.

“But then I’d have to come back and get it.” Frank countered.

“So?” Gerard shrugged, sliding off the bed to look for a shirt for Frank.

“Well, I mean, if that’s cool with you…” Frank trailed off.

“It’s cool with me.” Gerard echoed, as emotionlessly as he could, pulling a plain, black t-shirt out of the ‘semi-clean’ pile on the floor. He threw it in the direction of the bed, not looking back at Frank so that the punk couldn’t see the blush that had spread across his cheeks.

“I’ll get food on it.” Frank warned, “And bleach.”

Bleach. That was what Frank was worried about. It made sense suddenly.

“I don’t mind.” Gerard promised, “Sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Positive.” Frank said, grabbing one of Gerard’s pillows and covering his face with it.

 

Gerard slid out of the room and headed for the coffee maker. Was this weird? Yeah. This was totally weird. They were about to go to work together which was going to be even weirder.

Gerard had been low-key hurt when he’d woken up without Frank still around the other day, but now that Frank _was_ still around, Gerard decided he preferred waking up alone. He was thankful Mikey wasn’t there. The weirdness needed to occupy the entire apartment without any extra bullshit.

Gerard slid a coffee filter into the basket on his coffee maker and poured grounds in. He preferred to grind the beans himself first thing in the morning, but he’d reached for the pre-ground bag when he remembered Frank had a hangover.

Frank wandered into the small kitchen right as the first droplets of the coveted brown liquid hit the bottom of the coffee pot. His hangover was much more evident. The frown on his face gave it all away.

He’d switched into the shirt Gerard had given him. Gerard realized he’d missed the perfect chance to mention the bruises. Maybe Frank had even changed in the other room on purpose.

Gerard needed to clear this up. Immediately.

“I need to ask you something.” Gerard sighed, “But I need you to… _not freak out._ ”

“No promises.” Frank said evenly, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Okay.” Gerard said, taking a deep breath. He took a step forward, lifting the loose black fabric clinging to Frank’s torso.

“Punch me in the face if I’m totally out of line here, but where did these come from?” Gerard asked. He glanced up, unable to look at the angry dark marks for too long.

“My… tattoos?” Frank asked obliviously.

“No.” Gerard said, “ _No._ These fucking _bruises._ ”

“Most of these are from the pit.” Frank offered easily.

“Frank…” Gerard breathed, “I’ve been to a fucking punk show before. There isn’t a fucking circle pit. Everyone just pushes each other around, it’s not like-“

“I know.” Frank interrupted, pushing Gerard’s hand away and lowering the hem of the shirt to cover himself up again, “I _know_ that.”

Frank regarded Gerard with a helpless look.

“I appreciate your concern. Really.” Frank said slowly, “But it’s not what you think.”

Gerard saw the way Frank’s eyes shifted when he said it. _Lying 101._ He couldn’t look Gerard in the eye and say it. There was something he was leaving out, skipping over, _avoiding_.

“I can help you.” Gerard promised, pressing on, he knew he was crossing a line but he couldn’t shut his fucking mouth, “Whatever’s going on…”

“I know how this looks.” Frank said, placing a firm grip on Gerard’s arm, “Believe me, _I know._ But it’s really not what it looks like. _I promise._ ”

“ _Frank…_ ” Gerard sighed.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle myself.” Frank said firmly, “ _Really,_ Gerard.”

Gerard opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again when Frank let out a deep sigh. He dropped his grip on Gerard’s arm and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“It’s nice to know you’ve got my back.” Frank said quietly, “Thank you…”

 

The coffee pot gurgled, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over them..

 

“I changed my mind. I want coffee.” Frank said, obviously trying to change the subject.

“How do you take it?” Gerard asked in monotone. He wasn’t pulling himself out of what had just been said as easily as Frank had.

“Black.” Frank said, “Vegan, remember?”

“Black coffee on an empty stomach?” Gerard asked, “You’re crazy.”

“That’s what they keep telling me.” Frank sighed.

Gerard pulled two mugs off the dish rack and poured the coffee. He passed one mug to Frank and brought the other up to his face to breathe in the steam rolling off the surface of the liquid.

“Fuck…” Frank breathed.

“What?” Gerard asked, keeping his eyes closed.

“If I have to look at another beer can… I swear I’ll die.” Frank groaned.

“Sorry… they’re kinda… everywhere.” Gerard offered sheepishly.

“Don’t sweat it.” Frank said, taking a small sip from his mug, “My place looks about the same.”

 

They puttered around for a few more minutes. Gerard slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and frown at himself in the mirror for awhile. When he was out again Frank suggested they catch the earlier bus so he’d have some time to recollect himself once they got to the diner. Gerard pretended not to notice the distance between them as they walked to the bus stop. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It wasn’t like he wanted to hold hands. He was just too aware of his proximity to Frank.

 

“So… what happened last night?” Frank asked, hands in his pockets, once they were standing on the curb waiting. Gerard glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow.

“You want the long version or the abridged?” he asked.

“Abridged first.” Frank decided after a moment of deliberation, “I’ll decide from there.”

“Well… so you came over after the show. I was also pretty fucked up… We made out a lot. And then you passed out.” Gerard said, trying to keep things as vague as possible.

“What were you doing before I came over?” Frank asked, seemingly unaffected by anything Gerard had just said.

“Working on a painting.” Gerard answered.

“Fuck. I didn’t fuck up your like, artistic flow or whatever did I?” Frank asked.

“I was fucked up.” Gerard repeated, “So no?”

“I’d be so mad if someone just drunkenly waltzed into my apartment when I was working on something…” Frank commented.

“Well you didn’t just like, waltz into my apartment…” Gerard pointed out, “There was more of a _process_ involved.”

“Oh yeah. Your neighbors.” Frank grinned, “Why didn’t you just kick me out?”

“Forgot that was like, _an option_ , I guess?” Gerard said, kicking at a pebble on the pavement. He watched it bounce into the road, “Also you’re a good kisser.”

“Shut up.” Frank insisted fondly.

“You asked.” Gerard pointed out, right as the bus stopped in front of them to let them on.

Gerard gave Frank the window seat without hesitation. He tried to talk to Frank throughout their short, painful bus ride in hopes of distracting the poor, hungover punk. After the third time Frank told him to shut up, Gerard got the memo and let him suffer in silence. Frank really did look sick. He was all pale and moody.

Gerard bit his lip when Frank rested his head on Gerard’s shoulder. He was so confused and worried and _so_ not in the mood to go to work. He wanted to go back to laying in bed with his arm around Frank, to before he had to explain himself to anyone, or even back to last night when kissing hadn’t necessarily meant he’d have to answer any questions, or even remember it had happened.

The moment was over before Gerard wanted it to be. He saw the sign for the diner through the bus’s dirty windshield.

 

“I gotta go pick up cigarettes at the gas station real quick.” Frank said once they’d stepped off the bus, “You need anything?”

“Nope.” Gerard said.

“Cool. See you inside.” Frank said.

“Yeah. See you.” Gerard echoed.

This was Frank’s way of saying he didn’t think they should walk into the diner together together. Maybe it was for the best. It still came with a weird feeling that oddly resembled rejection.

Gerard heard Mikey’s voice in his head saying _‘Just be cool for once.’_

 

Gerard could be cool for once.

He shouldered his way into the diner without a second glance in Frank’s direction.

 


End file.
